


Two Wolves, One Carys

by Han_shot_first



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Explicit Consent, F/M, Multi, Porn with Feelings, any other tags would ruin it, m/f/m
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:09:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25841146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Han_shot_first/pseuds/Han_shot_first
Summary: After Chapter 40, before the Epilogue. Or somewhere in between.Explicit.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas
Comments: 26
Kudos: 28





	Two Wolves, One Carys

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard/gifts).
  * Inspired by [In Another World](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15788874) by [Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard/pseuds/Yours_Truly_Commander_Shepard). 



She hadn’t been prepared to see them both in the same time and place. Since entering the eluvian, she had indulged in a few daydreams about never having to choose between them, of somehow having them both. A couple of Desire spirits had tempted and teased her with that fantasy, and she had shivered at the idea of Longing hanging around, but nothing had prepared her for the visceral reality of seeing both of her wolves together.

It was him – it was them – her vhenan – her _vhenans_ \- but it was also not.

It was a headfuck, as Hawke would say. And wasn’t that just proof she had spent an awful lot of time with the Champion? 

She had been raised to believe that by her people that for the Dalish, was only ever one vhenan. 

‘Yes, and the Creators were full of light and wisdom, not at all psychotic despots with a penchant for turning into petty, squabbling high dragons whenever they felt like committing genocide and enslaving our own people. The Dalish got so much wrong. What’s one more?’ she thought to her bitterness and regret.

Pride had already gone ahead, leading Hawke on his arm like she was a proud elvhan noble from another time and place. And with a smirk on her face, Hawke had let him.

Despite the wound in her heart when she looked him, Carys could not help but feel profound relief at the proud, unbowed, and unbroken elf who stood before her. The one who had given her such a gift. 

For he had given her time - and the chance to change his mind.

But like all his plans, something epic had gone awry, to their sorrow and regret. 

And now she was lit by the soft glow of the chains at his feet, where he stood unfettered and unrepentant. His sad eyes were cautious and resigned, tempered by ages of loneliness and sorrow.

“I suppose jealousy of my younger self is unseemly, and yet…” He said it with a small wince. 

‘He always pours so much in an omission,’ she thought. 

‘Yeah, because the best liars get the mark to fill in the blank for themselves,’ snarked the Hawke in her mind. 

She looked into his eyes, and the pain was stark and tenderly naked to her gaze. It felt like an admission in the darkness that was true, like all real forays into heartbreak. She was surprised that he was willing to open the avenue of discussion so boldly. 

She replied cautiously. “It has not been easy, walking a path between you and… well, you.”

She could never renounce her love of his younger self. There was no path that could lead to that conclusion. 

Pride was him. And yet, looking at the one who had travelled with her through the Hinterlands, who had suffered with her through the bleak snows of Emprise du Lion, and who had discussed endless theories with her through the nights when she puzzled out ancient astariums and searched for the strange, magical shards that only appeared when they took turns looking through the skulls of murdered Tranquil… she felt the painful dissonance tear her heart to ragged shreds.

She shivered, remembering one of the first gentle touches of his hands, when she had wept with relief, never thinking to consider whether it was out of pity or sympathy that he comforted her. 

His Mark had become too painful as she tried to listen to another of Varric’s stories in the Singing Maiden. Darting outside, she had thrust her hands into a heap of one the endless piles of snow surrounding Haven behind the nearest quiet hut – which turned out to be his. In those early days, elfroot was in such short supply, and she was desperate to hide the condition from Cassandra and Leliana, lest they think she was an abomination as well as an Dalish apostate.

Her desperate attempt to numb the pain in the snow was met with wrapped feet and the quiet uptake of her hand as he crouched beside her. His magic flowed into her, gradually soothing the angry, restless energy trapped within her, knitting and coaxing the heated Mark into dormancy. Back into her bones. Her fingers, which had gripped his so tightly, had dangled into blessed limpness in his grasp, and she had not realised she was weeping with the release of her pain until she felt a calloused thumb wipe her tears. 

She felt the same anguish of catharsis now, and tears gathered in her eyes.

She always felt this way around him now.

A ghost of a chuckle, and he ducked his head down. A precious sound, almost as though he had forgotten how. She stepped closer, despite everything he had done, in spite of everything she felt about Pride, and because of who they were.

“He is… that is, you were… oh for the love of--- _something_! How does one even speak of this to you?” Frustration mixed with a giddy sense of endorphins had flooded her. If he could tell her his darkest secret, could they discuss this? Even if it was only once? 

She just wanted to hear that laugh again, to see him set at ease before they parted. 

She wanted to tell him she loved him. 

Oh, how Carys loved him. She loved him, she loved him - she loved them both. 

Across all times and places. 

‘And isn’t that what matters? Isn’t that what we have proven to each other, in this mad scheme of his?’ The thoughts raced across her mind like comets in the night sky.

“I suspect you have already resolved this, vhenan,” he said with a ghost of arrogance in his voice, his head tilted like a scholar. “It is merely a matter of cognitive separation and badges of honour. He remains Pride. And I… I am merely Fen’Harel.” 

In the end, his voice had become a whisper, the guilt of millennia weighing like a millstone around his neck. His smile was gone. His eyes were distant. His laughter had disappeared as though it never was, blown out like a snuffed candle. He bowed his head again, retreating.

She took a chance and grabbed his hands, pressing her lips to the cold, beloved fingertips.

“To me, you will always be Solas.” 

They stared at each other for an endless moment. He searched her face like he could memorise it, then took it into his hands and kissed her hard, the force of it moving to bend her back, falling into his arms. His tongue filled her mouth with ruthless precision. She shivered, her arms coming under his, holding on for dear life under his welcome assault. Her left arm hooked him to her while she gripped his back with her fist, sliding her tongue against his again and again, relishing his mouth. He tilted her mouth to align to his, and she allowed it for a moment, then fought his dominance, teeth in her kiss. She felt an answering bite. Then it was fast becoming a devouring, a chasing of heady power, the driving need, a glow of faelights casting around them. The Fade pressed around them, and she burned.

“I thought this might happen,” said a familiar icy voice, in the direction from beyond the rift leading to Carys’s broken world.

‘Cockblocker,’ laughed the Hawke in her mind.

She tried to pull, agony and guilt racing through her mind, but the old wolf in her arms merely tightened his hold. He lifted her against him, his cloak and pelt hiding her, even as she squirmed and pushed at him to let her go. His gaze narrowed and pierced the one who had returned through the rift.

“Not that I blame you,” said the young rebel wolf, his stormy blue eyes a seething chaos that promised violence, “but isn’t she a bit young for you, harellan?”

It was a perfect storm of anger and torment that set his eyes aflame, and Carys succeeded only in pulling away from her entanglement because the older elf had turned to face his younger self. They drew up against one another, circling again as they had when they first met, but this time the jealousy and hatred between them was out, teeth bared.

“I suppose you are quite juvenile when compared to my age, but not to hers,” allowed Fen’Harel. “Either comparison hardly grants you an advantage.”

Pride gritted his teeth, his eyes narrowing in searing disgust. 

“Stop, please,” shouted Carys, who was summarily ignored as the two circled each other.

She watched them in horror and fascination as they ignored her and sniped at each other, taking out their frustrations and hate as though she did not exist. Though millennia separated them, the only noticeable physical difference was the braids of Pride’s hair and the faint lines of age around the edges of Fen’Harel’s eyes. It was very subtle, she realised, and perhaps the result of having awoken in a world with the Veil, where his immortality was being strained. Maybe even broken. 

‘Just another discussion we’ll never have,’ she thought bitterly.

They were bickering and lights were flaring around their fingers now. She could not bear to think that they would hurt one another, not after everything she had done. Not after all that they had been through together – all three of them.

“No!” she cried, and threw herself between them, heedless of the consequences, and trusting that they would never knowingly hurt her.

“Vhenan!” Two voices cried out, nearly in unison, and she felt the dispelling of the Fade around her, as she had predicted. They glared over her at each other, and she found herself being gently washed with healing magic – just in case.

She couldn’t help it: the double dose was ticklish, and she burst into unwilling laughter as two sets of magical fingers probed her ribs.

Identical proud eyebrows went up, and she resolutely told herself not to notice just how unbelievably sexy that was. She had always loved and hated how he could appear so imperious with a single upraised brow. When they were fighting, it made her want to pounce on him and bite him into submission; following his argument would become difficult, because the beauty of his face would become distracting. When he was observing her, that stupid lifted eyebrow would beckon her, as though the arrogant bastard had found her worthy of his gaze. 

In their courtship, she would laugh and find ways to tease him for it, covertly or otherwise. A hidden caress in the wastelands. A casual flirt with danger as she flipped her staff under his ridiculous tunic. An outright token of misbehaviour when she once set a cup of tea next to a honey cake – with a single bite already taken out of it. 

_I see you_ was the glare and the insolent set of his jaw, his mouth, the uplift of that one eyebrow.

 _I want you_ was the language of her behaviour.

And now there were two of them with the identical expression. She clapped a hand over her mouth, mortified by her inappropriate sound – part moan, part laugh – like a man who just saw a blasted frilly cake in Val Royeaux.

It sobered her. She preferred honey cakes.

“I’m sorry,” she squeaked from behind her mouth, and carefully drew her hand down, tugging her tunic as she did. 

“Throwing yourself between us? Most unwise, vhenan,” said Fen’Harel, irritably. “You could have been greatly injured.”

“That, at least, we can agree upon,” muttered Pride, who glared at his elder self, and then returned his gaze to Carys, unable to assure himself that she was unharmed.

She blushed unexpectedly, and those eyebrows went up again. Imperious. Arrogant. 

Delicious.

‘Fenhedis,’ she thought, and that lead to another shocked giggle. She slapped her hand over her mouth again. ‘I’m going mad,’ she thought, somewhere under the surprise. ‘I’m exhausted, I’ve been through too much, and this is my breaking point. And it was his stupid eyebrows that did it. Fenhedis!’

More laughter, with snorts this time. She tried to hold it in.

‘What’s the plural for wolf cock?’ wondered the Hawke in her mind, too innocent by half. ‘Fenhedises? Fenhedizzy? Fenhedeeze-nuts?’

She lost her composure completely and began to laugh uproariously. She bent over, one hand on Pride, one arm on Fen’Harel, and laughed until she wheezed, her tears leaking from her eyes and onto the ground, while the two elvhen men stared at her in a mixture of confusion and abject concern.

“You are overwrought,” said Pride.

“No, I’m fine,” she tried to argue, but Fen’Harel and Pride were suddenly of one mind and purpose. They gently lead her by her arms to sit on a nearby rock, and Fen’Harel covered her with his cloak.

“Vhenan,” he said, ignoring Pride’s bristle. “Ir abelas.” His face was gathering shadows again, and she could not stand it.

She grabbed his hand, and said, “Stop. For a moment, just stop.”

Then she looked at Pride and said, “You too. Please?”

The gathering snarl in his voice was difficult to suppress, but at her side, with the tracks of her tears still drying on her cheeks, he sighed and acquiesced. She worked to pull herself together while the two men worked hard to look anywhere but at each other.

“I want to resolve something here, before we part,” she said into the quiet that rested between them. She took one of their hands and placed them, one at a time, into her lap. They startled, but when she laid her remaining hand on top of theirs, they stilled.

She began. 

“We are each powerful mages. Whatever happens to us, we must try to live without regret. Otherwise, we will draw demons to us in our world,” she nodded at Pride. “And in yours, you may entice a perverted spirit of Longing… which frankly, I suggest you avoid at all costs.”

Fen’Harel’s brow knit in concern and dispute. She recognised the old arguments about spirits beginning to form on his tongue, but Pride and Carys both shook their heads. 

“Trust me,” she said with finality. “The corruption runs deep, and it will find you if it can. We should resolve this hate and regret here and now, as best as we are able. And then we move forward.”

“A noble sentiment, but hopelessly naïve,” said Fen’Harel, with bitterness and cynicism in his gut and heart. As he stared at his younger self, he shook his head. He looked back at Carys and said, “I fear I can offer you nothing but ashes and disappointment. There is nothing left for me here. What do you wish of me?”

She stared into his eyes, and with a sad smile, said, “Can you really not understand, my heart?” 

Gently, she brought his hand to her mouth, and kissed his palm.

In the same way, she brought Pride’s hand to her lips, and kissed his fingers, one by one.

She looked into their eyes. She saw the moments when pairs of stormy blue-grey eyes became shocked. Horrified for but a moment, then an arousal that was quickly doused under defiant, proud rebellion. 

One, who considered the weight of thousands of years of loneliness. 

The other, who had tasted bitter solitude and knew enough to understand the feel of its endless nights. 

Almost as one, they stood up and walked a short distance from her, giving themselves some space to consider. They stared at each other, then at her.

“She cannot be in earnest.” 

“Earnest or not – her words linger in the air! They cannot be unsaid!”

“The you seriously entertain this… obscene idea?” 

“Well, she undoubtedly is.”

“…”

“…”

“Then… you are… in favour?” 

“I did not say that. It would be narcissism at its most corrupt.” 

“Hold - who said I would be touching you?” 

“…”

“Point.”

“Agreed, at least in abstract principle.”

“Abstract. Of course.”

“…”

“…”

“You know we witnessed far worse during June’s annual mechanical device demonstrations –--”

“A bit crude and undoubtedly vulgar. But effective when applied with the right charms, I suppose.”

“And that time when Sylaise debuted that heat spell, which triggered ---”

“---the five year orgy at the twins’ hall; yes, I remember.”

“…”

“That was… disorganized.”

“Messy.”

“But not without its merits.”

“Some, yes.”

“Don’t forget that time when we stumbled into Andruil’s camp when she and Ghilan’nain---”

A loud whistle sounded at that, and both turned to see Carys shaking her head.

“If you want to get anywhere tonight, you won’t speak of those two,” she said to them.

Fen’Harel looked surprised, but Pride just shook his head, the braids clicking a few times.

“This is hardly the best place for this, vhenan,” Fen’Harel said quietly, gesturing around them. “Are you absolutely certain you wish to do this?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation. 

“After this,” Fen’Harel said, “I will leave immediately. Have you considered the consequences of that?”

“No,” she said honestly. “I never really do with you.”

He closed his eyes against the painful beat of his heart, and when he opened them, he found his resolve.

“So be it.”

“And you?” she said to Pride. 

“I will not give your future to your past,” he said solemnly. “If you truly believe this will help bring you peace, simply give me your word, and I am yours to command.”

She shivered and said, “You are not my slave. I am not Mythal.”

He smiled, and if there was any anguish behind it, he hid it well. 

“No, vhenan, you are not. And that is why your word will always be enough.”

She pushed the Fen’Harel’s thick cloak off of her shoulders and onto the ground, thinking wistfully of Pride’s fur robe. She watched them make simultaneous shifting motions with their feet, and swallowed nervously as she saw Pride begin stalking towards her.

‘Oh, this can’t be happening,’ she thought wildly. ‘One of them is going to turn into a Desire demon right about now.’

Fen’Harel followed, his hands going to his armour. Pieces began falling at his side.

‘Shit, shit, shit!’

Pride caught her by her chin, lifted her jaw and kissed her. His hands fluttered around her tunic, pulling at the laces. Another pair of hands pulled at her boots, succeeding at one and working away at another.

‘This can’t be real! It was too easy!’

“Sorry,” she whispered into Pride’s mouth as she pulled back.

Then she smacked his cheek as hard as she could with the flat of her hand. His face reeled back; he fell against Fen’Harel, stunned. His head swam with the blow.

“What in the Void was that for, Carys?!” His voice was angry and hurt.

“Okay, so you’re definitely not a Desire demon!”

Behind him, she heard the precious sound of Fen’Harel’s uncontrollable laughter. Before Pride could retaliate, she launched herself at him, murmuring her apologies as she worked her lips around his jaw. She set her teeth gently into his shoulder, and her legs around his hips. She poured a small amount of healing magic into him, then licked his neck until she could latch onto his earlobe, sucking and biting in turns while she felt him squeezing her against his chest, his hands roaming her back, pulling at her tunic to get at her neck.

Fen’Harel had successfully worked her other boot off, and he moved behind her, removing her tunic and lifting her back slightly to get at the laces of her leggings.

She moaned at the grind against Pride’s hardness, loving the feel of him, and gasped as she felt Fen’Harel press against her naked back. He pulled her back, letting Pride have all the access he wanted to her breasts, while he continued to snake his hands past her lacings and into her trousers.

“I am going to play with you, vhenan,” he whispered into one long ear.

“Mhm,” agreed Pride, his lips around one aching nipple.

Clever fingers had unlaced her at last. One finger stole down, down, and she lifted her hips, trying to get it to the place she desperately wanted. 

“Tsk,” Fen’Harel chided.

“Patience,” said Pride. 

She whined, but Fen’Harel only tsked again, letting his fingers move and play everywhere but where she ached the most.

He switched to her other breast, and began licking the ache with agonising accuracy. She whimpered as he set the edge of his teeth to her nipple, and he let her see the sharpness of his teeth as he looked up and took the very end of its tip into his mouth… and gently pulled.

Pleasure shrieked directly from her breast to her clit. A hard moan came from her, shocking and unwillingly. She had not known she could feel pain and pleasure mixed like that.

He didn’t let up for a few seconds, letting her ride the edge. Then he let go, and repeated it on her other breast, gently pressing the soreness out with a knowing fingertip.

She panted, open-mouthed, and Fen’Harel’s mouth descended upon her, filling hers with a greedy tongue.

She latched upon it, sucking and biting in turns, and was rewarded when he returned the favour.

The fingers in her trousers disappeared, and as Pride’s wondrous, torturous mouth left her poor, abused breast, the next few moments were entirely devoted to one task: all three elves disrobing as quickly as possible, while Pride and Fen’Harel competed to touch and kiss Carys.

Her head was spinning, but she found herself cradled against a strong chest, her head forced back into a long, deep kiss. It was punishing and demanding. Pride, his arms around her, holding her tight, caressing her neck, breathing into her. In the next moment, he lifted her legs up and outwards, over his hips, and said to his elder self, “Your turn.”

An eyebrow went up in acknowledgement, and she panted. 

Fen’Harel’s eyes flashed, and a moment of terror flashed in her as he leaned over her cunt. A warm balm was being applied to her. She blinked, looking down as he smiled up at her.

“Vhenan,” he said with reverence. One, then two fingers, gently pushed inside of her. She groaned in relief. He stared into her face, memorising her reaction. Then he returned to his task, and she felt his tongue against her. He licked very slowly, from her entrance to her clit. She wanted to writhe, but Pride’s hands kept her immobile.

“No, vhenan,” said Pride, rumbling into a sensitive ear, licking at it and running the edge of wicked teeth against it. “You will take only what you are given.”

More sensation. Fen’Harel ran his tongue again and again from her entrance to the top of her clit, torturing her slowly, never increasing his pace. He moved his fingers in time to the pulse he felt in the uncontrollable twitches from her hips, and then he began to draw her pleasure from her.

She whined, trying to draw her legs closer, but Pride held firm, keeping them wide and apart, splayed over his hips.

“No, vhenan. Watch what he is doing,” he murmured into her twitching ear. “He will take you to the edge again and again, but until you plead, until you _beg_ , you will not go over.”

She felt a hot, wet tongue slide over her clit again, just as a third finger slipped in, pressing against the walls of her channel, sliding in a rhythm that threatened to fracture her mind. 

“He’s going to open you up,” Pride continued, almost in a bored voice, which was belied as he licked her sensitive ear. “You’re going to take much, much more than this. It’s what we were made for.”

Just as her cunt began to jerk in impending orgasm, Fen’Harel stopped. He just completely ceased moving, and she wanted to wail in frustration.

He looked up at her, juices over his lips and chin, his fingers still inside her twitching cunt. Lewdly, he used his other hand to wipe his face up a bit, then licked what he found.

“You taste so sweet, vhenan,” he complimented her, taking time to tongue between his fingers. “When you reach your pleasure, you will taste even better.”

She threw her head back, accepting the answering kiss from Pride as Fen’Harel began his work again. She let him bring her to the edge twice more, and then begged him for more. He answered with more of the balm, adding a fourth finger, turning his hand into a slim dagger shape.

She shrieked and he laughed against her clit. His thumb tortured her entrance, then he looked at her and said, “Soon, you’ll take it all.”

She look at him with real fear then. 

“Shh, my heart,” he said, kissing and licking at her, bringing her pleasure up. “I will bring you such pleasure.”

Pride echoed him, muttering delicious promises into her ears. 

“Ma lath,” Pride crooned. He pressed gently into her shoulders, kneading them softly, then switched into the muscles of her chest. It was an odd kind of massage, but soon she found her breasts aching with the desire for his touch, her nipples peaking with the craving for what he could do. 

The bastard avoided her nipples entirely, going to her arms instead, then to her belly. Up and down, he stroked the fires of her body, until at last, as she began to bow and cry out with frustration, he kissed her again, deeply and thoroughly stealing her breath, taking her under his wing, tugging and pulling at her nipples to bring searing pleasure to her clit. She begged, words in streams of pleading.

It was the moment Fen’Harel had been waiting for, and as he slipped his thumb under his fingers, pushing in gently.

She took him in easily, and he licked hard at her clit as she rode him down to his wrist.

The first orgasm was hard, and she convulsed around him, sobbing into Pride’s mouth. Pleasure bucked her in waves from her clit to the place where she could feel Fen’Harel’s knuckles pressing against her. It was a hard place, and she convulsed, needing to ride against him. Having been pulled so slowly to this place of gratification, she was helpless to its power. She felt herself move, and the smallest fraction would send new, powerful rippling waves of sensation through her. Fen’Harel turned his hand ever so slightly, and she rocked into bliss.

“Please don’t stop,” she begged.

“I will not,” he promised, licking at her clit again.

“Please, please, please,” she begged, grabbing at Pride, who caught her hand and elbow, steadying her, giving her strength.

“I will not cease,” Fen’Harel murmured, gently moved his fist in her channel, looking into her eyes.

“It’s so good,” she huffed as she groaned and lifted her hips.

“Will you come for me again?” he demanded.

“Yes, yes, yes,” she moaned.

“Do it,” he growled, and placed a thumb on her clit, massaging and circling it as he began to rotate his hand inside of her again.

“Oh, oh---” she yelped as she went over the edge again.

He waited until he felt her spasms around his hand winding down before he began to pull slowly from her. Her legs wrapped around his hips without her conscious effort. It was reflex, not wanting to let him go.

He chuckled, then flexed his hand and fingers. He looked her in the eye as he licked at his knuckles.

“Delicious,” he purred.

She blushed around a helpless moan, and he grinned. It was a very toothy grin – a wolf’s ivory promise, with many sharp teeth.

“Vhenan,” Pride murmured into her ear, “are you well?”

She nodded, and held her arms out for Fen’Harel, who came to her with a rangy wariness. 

“We have never,” she began, looking over her shoulder to Pride.

“I know,” he said quietly, looking into his elder self’s eyes for just a moment. “Do you wish me to go?”

“No!” she cried, and she snaked her right arm around him, holding him to her. “Do you not see? Do you not know? You are mine.”

She kissed him hard, and held him as he trembled. She waited until he calmed, centering himself again. 

She turned to Fen’Harel and said, “This is not how I would have imagined this moment, vhenan. But if you would have me, I am here.”

A moment of tenderness came to his eyes, and he looked away as though ashamed. 

“I wanted to give you thousands of years,” he said with anguish in his voice.

She rolled him onto his back and pinned his arms above his head. Leaning over, she said, “It would never have been enough, my heart.”

And finding his weeping cock, she pressed herself down, taking him inside her at last. He choked, finding his hands in her hair, pressing her forward to take her lips. They moaned as they moved, two lovers caught in a moment that had taken them too long to find.

“Why did you wait so long?” she cried into his mouth. Tears bathed his face, and he was heedless as he thrust into her, artless and helpless to all but her.

“Because I knew it would destroy me,” he wept in reply, as he gripped her hips and ground himself harder into her. She shrieked, and flailing, she found herself falling into Pride’s arms, where he held her up, his eyes grim and determined to help her, even in this moment. No matter the cost.

“Solas,” she cried, not knowing who she meant, and both responded.

The one holding her up kissed her fiercely, supporting her, giving her strength.

The one below her thrust into her, driving her furiously towards down onto him, his hands spanning her hips, grinding as he sought her pleasure. She was shaking uncontrollably now, her body’s responses blindly wrought of sensation and emotion. Distantly, she heard the sound of a song, reminding her of the Fade as it existed in Arlathan.

_in every time and place_

Solas inside of her, Solas holding her up, his eyes a storm of need, of anguish, of hope - 

_everything she had done_

He pierced her, and she bowed over him, her hair veiling her face –

_vhenan_

When he poured himself into her, she followed mere seconds after, and the grip she left on his hand was sore for days.

~*~

She woke with the cloak under her fingertips, and Solas nestled tightly at her back. She reached out and his arm snaked hard against her waist, pulling her close.

“He’s gone,” she said into the stillness.

He kissed the back of her neck.

She turned to him and gave him a gentle, if watery smile.

His smile was troubled, but she smoothed his face with her hand, kissing his brow and cheek, then finding his mouth with her own. Again and again, she whispered to him.

“Ar lath ma, vhenan. Ar lath ma. Ar lath ma…”

Wordlessly, he lifted himself over her, and with a questioning uplift of his brow, to which she returned a secret smile, he let his hands roam across her body.

“Do I share you with a ghost?” he asked, hating himself for the question.

She gave the question the weight it deserved, even as he lifted her legs around his hips. He caressed her shoulders, her breasts, her stomach. He leaned over to kiss the scars on her ribs, the evidence of a hard life, won by inches.

“There are caverns in every soul,” she said, running her hand over his head, placing her left elbow on his shoulder. “They are places where a memory can dwell. If kept in safety and kindness, they can be tended without fear. And without judgement.”

He stiffened, but she forged on, holding her breath just a moment.

“I suspect you have a cavern of your own, my love.” 

_Cry havoc in the moonlight. Let the fire of vengeance burn._

He looked at her and said, “I cry mercy, vhenan.”

She felt tears gather in her eyes, where they slipped down the sides of her face, to pool in the edges of her ears.

“Solas,” she murmured. 

And he leaned over to take her, and she welcomed him home.


End file.
